


narkao

by aislinngun



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Character Study, Death, Gen, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 11:53:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13546779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aislinngun/pseuds/aislinngun
Summary: A retelling of the myth of Narcissus. (And Echo, and Ameinias, and death itself. But mostly Narcissus - it is always about him, isn't it?)





	narkao

_ναρκάω narkao_  – 'I grow numb'

 

*

 

What do the say about him?

Narcissus the Beautiful. Narcissus the Hunter. Narcissus the Cold One.

Who Narcissus is, then?

Narcissus is dead, finally.

 

Of course, from the living's perspective there are downsides to Hades' kingdom. The thing is, when you're dead, priorities change. No pursuit is needed. One simply cannot be active. Being a shadow of oneself – unless some errant hero on a quest feeds you animal's blood still smelling of slaughter – is quite restful. No hero has ever approached him, and so he doesn't have to be like-alive. No pretending.

 

It's tranquil, and asphodelus blooms yellow and white, smelling sweetly. Its grey stalks and leaves seem almost silver in the constant dusk.

 

Elysian Fields were never for him, he knew that. But so wasn't Tartar.

Narcissus is happy with the restful middle.

 

*

 

Echo has no voice of her own. She can never speak for herself. It's not her fault, just the way she is, but it's still hard not to be annoyed when she repeats everything adoringly after him. Her adoration is suffocating – and she's doomed, if she'll keep on replicating all those imperfect, no good, bad, awful ways of his. He has no idea how to protect her from herself and from him.

 

He knows she likes him, and he likes her well enough too. She's an unobtrusive presence and a good company. He doesn't actually mind her attempts much, especially as he knows something about searching for identity – imitating others is always a first step to discovery, at least it was for him.

 

He knows, too, she likes him also the way he isn't sure why he can't reciprocate fully. He's attracted alright – she's kind, pretty, admires him (completely undeservedly). It's not her who's not good enough. He's simply aware of how he can never be good for anyone.

 

She shares his interests.

(He's running out of ideas to present them attractively, to justify his interest in them. He's tiring of hiding the unworthy – major – rest of them.)

 

He doesn't even know what are her interests, the ones she doesn't share with him.

(Did he neglect to ask? Did he not show her that she is worthy as she is, and that he would gladly join her pursuits? Why is he so useless at showing people how much he appreciates them? Is she afraid to show him as much as he is afraid to show her? Is she thinking he wouldn't like them? Why can he not create a welcoming atmopshere, an aura where she would feel safe? Why does she need his approval, his of all people?)

 

He's not really sure if she wants to be with him, or him.

 

(Sometimes, when she hides more than usually behind the screen of admiration, he feels much lonelier than on his own. He hates himself for being so self-centered – for this being his concern at all, instead of solely worrying for Echo and discovering her reasons for that. He also hates how he isn't able to use her appreciation to feel better. To become better.)

 

*

 

The lilies fill the room with their sickly sweet scent. Ameinias' body will be taken from here in a moment, the hearse carrying him to his last destination.

 

It's Narcissus fault, but it isn't.

(This whole thing is not about anyone's fault, really, and Narcissus blaming himself is actually even more selfish, because he's making it about himself now. Thinking about wheather he is making it about himself or not, is also making it about himself, again.

He's such a fuckup, gods, how to break this circle?)

 

Why could it be Narcissus fault?

 

Because he had enabled Ameinias with words that had clearly the potential to hit too close to home.

 

Because he had lead him on – he'd liked him, but not enough. He was too afraid to even consider liking him back and liking him this way. Not even because Ameinias was a guy (although Narcissus wasn't really prepared to be attracted to him as much as he was), but because he knew he himself was like a splinter in a warrior's foot – not enough to defeat on his own, enough to be a beginning of ruin. He needed to not cause any more pain than he already did.

 

(He had learned after the lesson with Echo. The black eye and busted lip applied by her friends, without her knowledge, felt like justice finally coming true.)

 

Because he spurned him forasmuch. Out of fear.

 

(The ugliest thing about that was how he cared not only about Ameinias pain, but also his own inability to stop this trainwreck. Why had every single thing had to be about himself?)

 

Why could it be not Narcissus fault?

 

Because Ameinias had troubles of his own, long before he even first met Narcissus, and this last days were the moment when all of that and a couple of new things finally caught to him. Narcissus knew some of those problems were of the financial, some physical, and some of the emotional nature. They were complex, huge, and had affected Ameinias for a long time already.

 

(It would be pretty pathetic and megalomanic to think himself a greater cause of misfortune than the life itself.)

 

*

 

Narcissus knows, rationally, that he has some redeeming qualities. He can perform well lot of tasks, if he puts his heart to it, he is succesful in his field and they call him The Hunter not without cause – he is often the first to spot a good opportunity, never mind how small it is.

 

He is, according to how well people respond to him, quite charismatic and convincing. People tell him they like to listen to him, to what he has to say and how he is telling it, and too his voice too. They are telling him they like his looks. They are telling him he could be great, with all his talents.

 

It is a warming feeling, to hear those compliments, and he always cares to thank their givers and emphasise how nice it is of someone to go out of their way to tell him all that. He feels in those moments like, even if just for a second, his existence is justified. Like he could, even for a split of second, to be not a burden.

 

(And then he always comes back to feeling like the scammer he is, somehow able to deceive all of them into thinking he's worth anything.)

 

If he could only _be_ the way they tell him he is, if he could only use his gifts, to develop his talents, to be more hardworking, to use the potential he has – he feels like if only that would happen, he could stop despising (love) himself.

 

He knows he will never reach the heights he wants, the peaks they tell him (expect of him) he can achieve. And so he hurts because he knows it's impossible, and he wastes his life away, always strives, never reaches. He tries, and tries, and tries, and it never is enough. He is never enough.

His reflection is always better than him.

 

*

 

The asphodelus grows up, up, up, towards the grey skies. Narcissus grows numb, and he is finally free.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can talk to me on [tumblr](http://pickyperkypenguin.tumblr.com), if you want.


End file.
